It Began with a Party and Ended with a Funeral
by hidden-in-a-tree
Summary: A going away party for Greg leaves Nick feeling horrible, and he tries to nurse his hurt with alcohol. With his judgment impaired, Nick makes a decision that could kill. Three chapters. Angst/Tragedy/Drama. Nick/Greg. Nick’s POV. Slash.
1. Chapter One

**Author's Note: **This was one of my older fics, and I decided to spruce it up and finish it. It took me forever to actually get it uploaded, but better late than never, right?

Three chapters. Angst/Tragedy/Drama. Nick/Greg. Nick's POV. Slash.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the characters mentioned. As a fangirl, I wish I did … but yeah, as if _that_ will ever happen.

**Acknowledgements: **Thanks goes out to Amanda for being bored one night and making me think about continuing on with this story. Oh, and she proofread it, too.

I'd also like to thank Natasha for reading this over and giving suggestions. As always, this is a huge help.

**Summary: **A going away party for Greg leaves Nick feeling horrible, and he tries to nurse his hurt with alcohol. With his judgment impaired, Nick makes a decision that could kill.

**It Began with a Party and Ended with a Funeral  
**_**Chapter One**_

Nick couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak, he couldn't move. When was the last time he had felt this earth shattering, heart numbing, blind panic? He couldn't recall. This would be the last time he would see Greg, the last chance he would have … if he wanted to take it.

"_I'm going back to California."_

Didn't Greg see the complete devastation on Nick's face? Couldn't he tell that he had just broken Nick's heart? Not just broken it, Greg had decimated it.

"_I think it's time for a change. I need to get out of the city."_

When you needed change, you got different wallpaper. You didn't just sell your apartment, quit your job and go running back to California. For God's sake, get a goldfish if you wanted change. Just don't leave.

"Shh, here he comes!" Wendy hissed, turning off the lights.

Thrust out of his memories, Nick came back to reality, his pupils dilating wildly to see in the gloom. The crowded room became eerily silent as footsteps echoed down the hall. The feet stopped outside the door, and the owner pushed it inwards. Greg entered, his hand reaching to flick on the light when …

"SURPRISE!" everyone, except Nick, screamed.

The light was turned on and a pandemonium of cheers and hollers went up as Greg stood there, his face almost comical because of the look of utter shock on it. Then he beamed at everyone.

"You guys shouldn't have!" he said loudly, laughing. Grissom walked up to him and clapped him good-naturedly on the shoulder.

"Well we did, Greg. We wanted you to know that you will be missed."

Everyone murmured in response as Greg's eyes glistened.

"Well I'm going to miss you all as well," he said to the crowd.

Nick heard all the words as if he was underwater. Had Greg looked directly at him when he had said he was going to be missing everyone?

"Well come on Greg, it's cake time!" Catherine chuckled, pulling him by the hand towards the cake on the break room table. It was in the shape of a black guitar.

"It looks almost too good to eat," Greg noted, "but oh well."

More laughter.

Greg and Catherine began to cut the cake into slices, not even noticing that Nick was still standing in his original position, over by the counter. Finally Warrick looked up, his vibrant green eyes narrowed.

"Nick, you coming to get a piece?"

Mechanically Nick walked over, grasping the paper plate Henry had given him. A large piece of the chocolate cake was put onto the awaiting plate. Nick gazed down at the rich icing and felt his stomach churn.

The going away party lasted for almost two hours, everyone reminiscing about the great times they had with Greg. Of course, no one mentioned the lab explosion or Demetrius James. That would definitely kill the party.

"You remember the time I had to lecture your ass at a crime scene when you weren't organized?" Warrick asked, laughing at the memory.

"Yeah, well, learning is a lifelong thing. I'm always taking in information, I'm like a …"

"Greg, please don't steal my line again," Grissom said sternly, but a smile danced in his eyes.

"I remember how you used to always play loud, screamo music in your lab," Catherine recalled.

Greg shrugged. "At least I don't listen to Dolly Parton in my car."

"I do not listen to Dolly Parton!" Catherine exclaimed, her face going red.

"That's not what Warrick said."

Catherine whirled around, smacking Warrick on the shoulder, but Warrick was laughing too hard to care.

"I remember how you contaminated a crime scene and broke the case all in one go," Grissom remarked.

Greg groaned. "You had to bring up that proficiency test, didn't you?"

The party ended on a good note as everyone wished Greg good luck on his future endeavors then left, throwing out the garbage on the way. Sighing, Greg put the cake in the fridge then turned to leave. He was halfway across the room when he realized he wasn't alone.

"Nick? What are you doing?"

Nick shrugged, the plate still in his hand. Greg strode over to him, his head cocked to one side. He stopped in front of the older man, confusion evident in his eyes.

"Is something wrong, Nick?" Greg asked, his voice low, comforting.

Nick actually had to struggle to hold in the words that were bursting to be set free. The words ached and longed to be out in the open, but the recurring fear of rejection wouldn't let them. Nick kept them trapped and hidden.

Greg only blinked, then glanced at the clock on the wall. It was getting late, and he had a long drive to California.

"'Kay then, well, I guess I'm… going to go, then," Greg said, a yawn breaking up the sentence.

He was about to hug Nick, then thought better of it. He offered up his hand, and Nick shook it. Then Greg was gone.

It could have been hours, or maybe minutes later when Nick threw out the piece of cake and got into his vehicle, not really knowing where he was going to go. Without noticing, he had driven to a bar close to The Strip. It was secluded and dark, just the way Nick wanted it. He yearned to get Greg out of his mind … and the only way he could think of doing that would be with alcohol.

Nick wasn't a heavy drinker and he always drank responsibly, but now … something seemed to have snapped in his mind. He didn't think of his job, his life or anyone else's for that matter. The only thing in his brain was touching Greg for the last time. Who knew when he'd be back?

Drink after drink came and time crawled by, almost as if time itself was dying a slow and agonizing death.

After some time, Nick dizzily got to his feet, pulling out his car keys. He should have called a cab. He should have called a friend. He should have done something different. He shouldn't have driven, but he didn't think of that at the time. Nick had achieved what he had wanted—he wasn't thinking at all anymore.

The last thing Nick could remember was unlocking his car after a few tries and sliding into the driver's seat. He could recall turning the engine on and he could hear the other cars driving by him. What he didn't remember was putting the car in gear then driving.

Maybe it was for the better. That way, he wouldn't remember seeing the large black truck slamming into the driver's side of his car after he had run a red light … that was _if_ he survived.

And as the officer told Nick's next of kin, the odds looked grim.


	2. Chapter Two

**It Began with a Party and Ended with a Funeral  
**_**Chapter Two**_

Nick was woozy, and he felt as if he had been body slammed from all sides. His head throbbed, his arms ached, his chest and lower abdomen felt as if pins were sticking in to his skin. The Texan couldn't even open his eyes.

"… brain activity is almost returning to normal," a professional male voice said, the sound quiet, almost far away. "He should be awake anywhere from five minutes to an hour from now. Page me when he wakes up."

"Will do," another male voice said, then the room fell in to silence, but Nick could almost feel more than one person in the room with him.

"Do … do you think he'll remember what happened?" a woman's voice asked, a tearful quality to it.

"I don't know," another male voice replied softly.

A few more voices piped up, and Nick groggily realized that there were at least five, maybe six people in the room. But where was he? Almost subconsciously, he shook his head, trying to force himself to wake up. An excruciating pain shot from his head down through his neck, and he grunted in pain, squeezing his eyes shut tighter.

"He's in so much pain," a woman remarked, her voice cutting off swiftly.

Nick heard someone get up and rush out of the room sobbing. Another person followed her out. Great, now Nick's calculations were off.

"Gris, when do _you _think he'll be awake?" a younger voice asked, and this one definitely clicked in Nick's memory: Greg. If Greg was here, then all the other CSIs must be, too.

"I don't know, Greg. We'll just have to wait and see," Grissom replied, his voice weary. The room fell into silence once again.

Nick felt like screaming: "I'm awake! I can hear you!" but he couldn't. Once again he tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids wouldn't lift.

"Come on, Nicky. Wake up," a deeper male voice said, and the Texan knew it was Warrick speaking. Warrick, Nick's best friend.

An uncontrollable yearning to see Warrick's calming face made Nick wrench his eyes open, the light dazzling him and blinding him. A rush of voices broke out in the room as everyone jumped from their seats to situate themselves around the hospital bed.

There was Catherine, tears in her eyes. Grissom, his face deadly white. Warrick, tears in his eyes, too, and there was Greg. Even the younger ma's eyes were moist, and his jaw was trembling.

Nick licked his dry lips and tried to speak, but he couldn't.

"Here Nick," Catherine whispered, lifting a glass of water with a straw in it to his lips. Nick gratefully drank slowly, the water flowing down his throat.

"That better?" she asked him, and Nick nodded in response.

"How you doin', Nicky?" Warrick questioned him, putting a quaking hand on the Texan's shoulder.

"Bad," the Texan croaked out. "I hurt … all over."

"I should page the doctor," Grissom muttered, exiting the room swiftly. No one else moved from Nick's side.

"Do … do you know where you are, Nick?" Catherine asked hesitantly.

"No."

"You're at Sunrise Hospital, Nick. It's August 7th today, 2008. One day before the Olympics. You remember telling me you were going to watch them, right?" Warrick said quickly. "Do you remember?"

"No … well, kind of," Nick said hoarsely.

"You … you've been in a coma for a week, Nick," Greg finally spoke up, his voice wavering. "You were in a car accident."

This was news to Nick, but it didn't surprise him. The injuries he had sustained seemed indicative of a car accident.

"Do you remember the car accident?" Catherine asked.

"No. What happened?"

All three visitors exchanged worried glances, and Nick caught on to it. "What happened?"

"Welcome back, Mr. Stokes!" the professional male voice said loudly, striding up to the bed with Grissom at his heels. He was a somewhat short, pudgy doctor with glasses. He was holding a clipboard. "How are you feeling?"

"Bad," Nick answered.

"I'm going to prescribe some pain medication for you. What all hurts?"

"Everything," the Texan admitted.

The doctor made a note of that, then he checked the charts at the bottom of Nick's bed.

"You seem to be healing fine, Mr. Stokes. I won't allow you to get out of bed yet, but I dare say you can have some solid food now. That should be a nice change, eh?"

Nick made no comment. He didn't really like the doctor much.

The man finished with his notes, then he glanced at Nick. "Ah, where are my manners? My name is Lance Redcurn, and I am the doctor attending you. I shall be back to check on you in a few hours." And without another word, he was gone.

"So what happened?" Nick asked immediately, trying to reposition himself.

No one answered.

"Someone should go get his parents," Grissom said to the room at large.

"I'll go," Catherine volunteered quickly, jumping to her feet and left the room in a hurry.

Grissom took her spot at the bed.

"Why won't anyone tell me what happened?" Nick questioned him furiously. He felt a headache coming on.

"Nick, you aren't well. That should be kept till you're feeling better," Grissom explained, trying to soothe him.

"Yeah Nicky, we'll explain it another time, okay? Just relax," Warrick told him, his hand still on Nick's shoulder.

A horrible thought flashed in to Nick's mind. "I … I didn't cause this, did I?"

Greg's eyes welled over, and the tears cascaded down on to his cheeks. He turned away from Nick and went over to the window, his shoulders heaving. Grissom and Warrick made no noise, and that was answer enough for Nick.

* * *

Nick took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He was trying hard not to cry, not to let the tears run their course, although he was slowly losing the fight. One lonely tear rolled out of the corner of his eye and down by his ear. It made the skin around there slightly itchy, and he couldn't even lift his arms to wipe it away. This feeling of helplessness just made Nick cry harder.

"Nick?" Greg asked, knocking lightly on the door before entering. He stopped short, listening to, and seeing, Nick's pain. "Oh, Nicky." He was by Nick's side in an instant, and he was softly wiping away Nick's tears.

"Why, Greg?" Nick whispered, his voice husky.

Greg drew up a chair beside the hospital bed. "Why what, Nick?"

"Why did I have to do whatever I did?" the Texan croaked out. He didn't care that his question sounded ridiculous. Right now it was all he could think about, and he couldn't even remember what he had done.

Greg sighed loudly. "I … I don't know, Nick."

"I don't even know what I did, and I'm already regretting it."

"Your parents wouldn't tell you?"

Nick sniffled. "My mom kept crying and my dad wouldn't even look at me. When your own father won't look at you, you know it's bad."

Greg was silent for a moment, just observing Nick. "If your parents didn't tell you, then I don't know if I should either."

"Please Greg? I need to know. I need to know what I did. I can handle it, I swear," Nick replied, struggling to sit up straighter, but all he achieved was a dull throb of pain.

Greg stood automatically and helped Nick get comfortable again. "Are you sure you're ready to know?"

The older man leaned back in to his pillows, a weak smile on his face. "It can't have been that bad, right?"

Greg's eyes filled with pearly tears. "It is."

The smile slid right off Nick's sore face. "I'm ready anyways. Please."

Greg took a deep, shuddering breath and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, leaving watery smudges on his face. "Okay." He glanced around the room once before his sympathetic eyes returned to Nick's own uneasy face. "You remember the night I was leaving, right? There was a surprise going-away party for me. You were there, Nicky."

"I—I remember it, sort of. Did you have a guitar shaped cake?"

"Yes."

"Then I guess I do remember it, well, a bit of it anyways."

Greg nodded before continuing. "Well, this is just what I've heard from … from police officers. After I'd left, you … you went out drinking. You got extremely drunk, I think your blood alcohol level was double the legal limit, and then …" Greg stopped, his lips trembling violently. He swallowed. "And then you got into your car and drove off. You didn't get far, though. You ran a red light and ran into a black truck."

Nick closed his eyes, praying with all his might that this was just some twisted nightmare. He _never _got drunk. He would _never_ drink and drive. He had more sense than that.

"The … the driver of the truck," Nick began hesitantly, afraid of the answer, "Did he make it?"

Greg bowed his head, his shoulders shaking. Nick waited, his heart hammering in his chest. Greg finally looked up, the tears pouring from his dark eyes. "He died on impact."


	3. Chapter Three

**It Began with a Party and Ended with a Funeral  
****_Chapter Three_**

The world swam in front of Nick's eyes. He felt like he was going to hurl, but somehow he managed to keep his meager supper down. His hands started to twitch uncontrollably as the realization sank in: He had killed someone.

"Nick? Are you okay? Should I go get the nurse?" Greg asked frantically, grasping one of the Texan's quivering hands. He held on softly, stroking the cold fingers gently. Greg's touch helped Nick to focus, to come back to reality.

"How could I have done this, Greg?" Nick finally inquired, the words seeming to come from someone else. "How could I have gone drinking, then just got in my car? I knew better. I _know _better."

Greg's grip tightened on Nick's hand, but his voice was steady. "I don't know, Nicky. No one could believe it when they found out. No one can still believe it. We're just lucky you're alive."

The older man worked furiously to keep his face from crumpling up with tears.

"Lucky, yeah. Sure. I'd rather have died instead of the other driver. Was it a man? A woman?"

"A man. Thirty-four years old. His name was Donald Ryce. He left behind a three-month pregnant wife and one toddler daughter," Greg answered heavily.

Nick felt the blood rush from his face. "I'm a murderer."

Greg had no response; he just continued to stroke Nick's hand, his almost lifeless fingers.

"I killed someone, Greg. I _killed_ someone, and this person had a family. I—I wish I had died instead. I don't know how I'll be able to face her, but I know I'll have to apologize, or I'll never be able to sleep again. I don't know how I'll be able to live with myself after I get out of here. How could I have been so stupid? I ended someone's life! I ripped that man away from the people that loved him. He had a pregnant wife for God's sake. And I killed him," Nick spat out, hatred at himself flowing through his veins.

"Nick, look, you made a mistake—"

"No, Greg. No mistake bears this kind of consequence."

Greg used his left hand to wipe at his eyes once again. "You didn't set out intending to kill someone."

"Driving under the influence of alcohol pretty much _is_ a death sentence for someone. And it was," Nick muttered. He bit his lip, almost drawing blood. He wanted out of this mental agony. He would have gladly died than have to live with the insurmountable guilt of having someone else's blood on his hands.

"I'm probably fired, too," Nick noted aloud. "And my license is probably gone. A law suit that I'm going to lose is also around the corner." He sighed. "And I deserve all of it."

"We're going to be here for you, Nick," Greg whispered softly, leaning closer to the Texan. "Your friends are going to be there supporting you. We know the real you, Nicky. We know you never meant to hurt anyone. You're always out to save the world, and I guess you just mis-stepped on the way."

"I don't know how anyone can stand by me after what I did," Nick said in an undertone.

"Because we love you, Nicky. And we always will."

"I don't think I could stand by me after what I did," Nick told Greg, looking into the younger man's face.

"Then aren't you glad we aren't you?" the CSI Level One joked.

A soft rustling at the door to the hospital room made both men turn to look. In the doorway was Warrick, Catherine, Grissom and Nick's parents. Seeing them all there made Nick's eyes fill with tears once again.

"May we come in?" Grissom asked. Greg nodded in response, and he pulled his chair back a few inches, but he didn't let go of Nick's hand.

The others came and pulled chairs up to Nick's bed as well. Jillian Stokes went right up by her son, and reached out to hold his right hand. Her hand was warm, and it was a comfort against Nick's cold skin.

"Nick, a lot of things are going to happen in the next few days, weeks and months. I just wanted to let you know that we're all going to be there with you," Grissom said, his full attention focused on the injured CSI.

"A—all of you?" Nick questioned, his gaze lingering on his father, who was sitting at the foot of his bed.

Nick's father stared at his son. He looked at the physical injures that were plaguing Nick, but he also read the emotional pain that was on his son's shoulders from the young man's expression. Bill Stokes raised a hand and put it softly on Nick's foot. "Of course we all are, Poncho."

Nick knew that he would have to face his inner demons sooner or later, but right now he was content to be surrounded by people that loved him. In the back of his mind, though, he couldn't forget Donald Ryce and his family.

"Thank you," Nick whispered as moisture blurred his vision. "I can't thank all of you enough."

"Don't mention it, Nicky. We love you—we'll always be here for you," Catherine told him, patting his shoulder softly.

Nick smiled through his tears, grateful that he had a group of people that would always be there for him. A group of people who would see him through this. Nick's eyes drifted to Greg, who was still holding his hand. He was with a group of people who would be there to see him smile once again.

_**Author's Note:  
**__I'm sure I don't have to say how horrible it is to lose someone you love to a drunk driver.  
So please, think before you drive.  
Call a cab, a friend, a family member.  
You could save someone's life, and your own._


End file.
